You Can Run

by Trevor Wood

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Female Sleuths; Suspense

Synopsis

'FAST PACED AND GRIPPING BUT WITH A HEART OF PURE GOLD' HARRIET TYCE
'BEGINS AT THE SPEED OF A RUNAWAY TRAIN ... PROPULSIVE PAGE-TURNER' VASEEM KHAN
'GO RUBY! WHAT A HERO!' FIONA ERSKINE

It takes a village to save a child in this pulse-pounding standalone thriller from the acclaimed author of The Man on the Street.

It wasn't her dad they were after.
It was her.

Ruby Winter is surprised when her reclusive father invites a stranger into their house. She eavesdrops on their conversation and is alarmed when she hears a fight break out. She dashes into the kitchen to save her dad but the stranger's the one lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Her dad urges her to pack a bag. They must quit their Northumbrian cottage and run. There isn't time to explain why. But as they try to flee her dad is captured.

The only people who can help her are the villagers she has shunned her whole life. But, desperate to find her father and to work out who took him and why, she must seek their help.

But what if learning the truth means discovering the life she once knew was a lie?

Release date: March 16, 2023

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

1

February 2023

The doorbell heralds the beginning of the end. As soon as Alex hears it ring he knows that the moment he’s been dreading for almost sixteen years has finally arrived.

The man who pressed the buzzer stands back from the house, glancing nervously at the flutter of snowflakes hitting the ground around him, unaware Alex is staring right at him, hidden by the frosted glass window that he had installed for privacy.

There’s a moment when Alex considers ignoring it, hoping the man will go away but, as he well knows, sometimes you just have to deal with the crap that comes your way, no matter how bad it might get, and this is another one of those moments. It doesn’t mean he’s not scared shitless though.

He takes a deep breath, pushes his chair back and thinks about grabbing his insurance policy from upstairs but instead heads for the front door – maybe the guy’s just lost and he can get rid of him quickly. Alex unhooks the security chain, clenches his fist to stop his hand from shaking and slowly, reluctantly, pulls the door open, keeping things nice and easy, trying to look unthreatening.

The visitor is dressed like a wannabe soldier. Camouflage trousers and a black T-­shirt, no logos, insignia or name badge, not quite what Alex has been expecting – younger for a start – but not a million miles away either. The ponytail is a surprise too, and there’s something about the guy that would set anyone on edge; a kind of manic energy that makes it look like he’s about to explode. He’s shuffling on his feet, bouncing almost. Worst of all, he’s got a gun.

On the plus side it’s in a covered holster, clipped to his belt, rather than pointing at Alex’s chest but, even so, he’s struggling to take his eyes off it.

‘Can I help you?’ he says, looking up and smiling, trying to be friendly. Maybe the guy is just trying to find his way to Otterburn where the firing ranges are – military vehicles are a regular sight in the area. But if he’s really lost why would he choose a house at the end of a cul-­de-­sac to ask for directions? And where’s his vehicle?

‘Are you Winter?’ the guy says.

Fuck, that’s not good. Alex nods. No use denying it. The guy points at his own chest.

‘Green.’

He doesn’t make it clear if that’s a surname or a description but neither of them really gives a shit about the formalities. They’ve both got business to attend to.

‘I think you’ve got something I want,’ Green adds. ‘Something that doesn’t belong to you.’

Alex has thought about what he’d do at this moment almost every day for years but has never really come up with a plan that might work. There’s no way he wants a fight on the doorstep though, not with Mrs Nosy Twat just across the road. He’d probably lose anyway but in the unlikely event of him winning, there’d be no way to keep it quiet. Unless he kills the neighbour too but that would definitely be a step too far. So he pulls the door wide open.

‘You’d better come in.’

Green looks surprised. It’s clear he’s expecting more of a challenge but, unable to resist an open goal, he walks in.

‘Go through to the kitchen,’ Alex says, nodding to the open doorway at the end of the hall and closing the front door behind him. Green does as he’s told though he keeps glancing over his shoulder, like he thinks it’s a trap. He’s even younger than Alex first thought and seems more nervous than a man in his line of work should be. Maybe he was expecting backup to have arrived by now.

Alex follows him in, kicking out the wedge that normally keeps the door open so Ruby won’t hear the conversation. Or what happens afterwards. It closes behind him. Green already has his back to the counter, no doubt making sure that no one can creep up behind him. Not a complete novice then. The man’s twitching hand hovers near the gun’s holster. Alex wonders if he’s on something or just gets off on confrontation.

‘Where is she?’ Green says.

2

Something weird is going on.

Ruby pinches herself to make sure she’s not dreaming. Some randomer has just turned up at the door and her dad let him in. That is just not a thing. Ever. He absolutely hates being interrupted when he’s working, which is like, always. The number of times she’s had to collect a parcel from a neighbour cos he didn’t answer the door – even though he can see the postman knocking from where he’s sitting!

She checks the clock on her computer screen. It’s 12.15. He always starts work at nine a.m. sharp and works straight through till one p.m. on the dot, so caught up in his work that you can’t get a word out of him. Even though she’s the only other one who’s ever in the house he puts a Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle just in case she’s thinking of breaking the rules. This change in routine is beyond odd.

She caught a glimpse of the mystery visitor from her bedroom window when he first rang the bell and he’s definitely not a local. The camouflage trousers weren’t that unusual but nobody round here has a ponytail like that, certainly not the men – they’re all strictly short-­back-­and-­sides kinda guys. Or bald. Apart from Mad Danny but there’s no way her dad would let him in – he’s never once let anyone from the village in.

The two of them are talking now, in the kitchen – she can hear them from her room so it must be loud. Annoyingly she can’t quite make out what they’re saying.

Ruby hates not knowing stuff so she creeps out of her bedroom and down the stairs, edging along the hallway towards the back of the house where the kitchen door is firmly shut. Which is also odd. Their cat, Pluto, needs to get to and from the cat flap so she can crap in the garden so it’s normally wedged open. She can see the piece of wood they use pushed to one side of the hall.

She keeps to the left-­hand side of the hallway as she approaches the door. There’s a loose floorboard on the right and she doesn’t want her dad to think she’s spying on him. She is, clearly, but it’s best that he doesn’t know that. He’s a very private person. So private that he won’t even touch social media – and doesn’t let her either. Though obviously she still does – her best friend Liv has taught her how to bypass parental controls and as her dad’s not even on Facebook he’s not likely to find out anytime soon. Hopefully.

She’s almost at the door when there’s a shout.

‘No chance. Absolutely not.’

She stops abruptly, her heart skipping a beat. It’s so sudden and surprising that she’s not sure whose voice it is. It sounded like her dad but she can’t remember the last time he raised his voice so maybe it was the other guy.

‘You’ve no choice.’

Definitely not her dad this time. A strange accent. Not from round here. Southern, she thinks. A bit like the guys on TOWIE. And something threatening about it. Maybe she should go in? Would that calm things down? Or make things worse?

She hears a chair scrape across the floor.

‘I’d like you to leave.’

Definitely her dad this time, calmer but insistent. She relaxes, he’s got this.

‘Not happening. Unless she comes with me.’

She? Was he talking about her? Must be, no other girls here, apart from Pluto, but Ruby is pretty sure the guy isn’t a cat person – you can always tell.

Who is he? She puts her hand on the door handle. If this is about her she has every right to know. Something holds her back. Nervously, she puts her ear to the door, hoping to get another clue.

A loud scream from inside the kitchen makes her leap away from the door. Was that her dad? She starts to shake, her foot tapping loudly on the wooden floor. Ruby summons every bit of willpower she has to stop it, terrified that the ponytailed man can hear her from inside the kitchen. What should she do? Only one answer. Help her dad. She runs into their small front room and grabs a poker from beside the fire, sprints back down the hall and crashes into the kitchen.

She almost falls over the body lying face down on the floor in front of her. Stumbling to avoid it Ruby drops the poker and one of her bare feet lands in the growing pool of blood that’s seeping over the tiles. She slips and screams. Grabbing at the kitchen counter to keep her balance, she can’t help noticing the empty slot in the knife block in front of her. As she spins around she sees her dad, standing behind her, holding the missing knife, bright red blood dripping from the blade onto his hand.

3

‘Ruby!’

She blinks. Her dad is holding her shoulders, the blood from his hand staining her T-­shirt; the knife now on the floor by her feet. She is properly shaking now, can’t control it this time.

‘Listen to me.’

‘But—’

‘Not now,’ he says, firmly. His eyes drill into hers, imploring her to pay attention, his hands gripping her arms too tightly, hurting her. He sees her wince and relaxes his hold slightly.

‘Run upstairs and pack a bag, just essentials. No phones or iPad, nothing that can be traced. Make sure it’s easy to carry. Like a rucksack.’

There’s a groan. The other man. She glances down. He’s still lying face down but inching very slowly across the floor. There’s a gun lying at his feet but if he’s after that he’s going the wrong way.

‘Ignore him.’

‘He’s got a gun!’ she shouts.

Her dad nods, walks across the floor and picks the gun up. He ejects the magazine and slides the bullets out one by one onto the floor. Each one breaking the silence with a ping. When did he learn how to do that? When it’s empty he throws the magazine into the far corner of the kitchen.

‘What about the police?’ she says. ‘Your fingerprints are on the gun now. They’ll think it’s yours.’

‘We won’t be calling the police.’ He lays the gun down on the kitchen counter.

She closes her eyes. This can’t be happening. The man on the floor moans in pain and she opens them again to look back at him.

‘We should at least call an ambulance,’ she says.

‘No!’ She flinches as her dad pulls her around so she can’t see the man any more. ‘We have to get out of here.’

‘But who—’

‘No time for questions. I’ll explain later. We have to move. Go. Now!’

Ruby tries to do as she’s told but her feet won’t budge. It’s like the connection between her brain and the rest of her is broken. She can hear the wounded man dragging himself towards the back door, his boots scraping on the stone tiles. She could swear she’s seen this movie. It didn’t end well.

‘Move!’

The urgency in her dad’s voice gets her going. She runs into the hallway, finds a small rucksack in the coat cupboard and legs it up to her room. She grabs some socks but realises she has blood all over her feet. She slumps onto the floor as the tears begin. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. It’s her birthday next week. She’s supposed to be having a small party with a few friends from school in the kitchen downstairs. But it’s covered in blood and there’s a dying man on the floor. She laughs but not the funny kind – more hysterical. She wraps her arms around her body, as if that will keep her safe.

‘Ruby! Hurry up.’

Her dad’s shout shakes her out of her trance. She runs to the bathroom, leaving bloody footprints on the carpet and quickly washes her feet in the bath, pink water swirling down the drain. When they’re clean and dry she puts her socks and trainers on, grabs her toothbrush and some paste and dashes back to her room. She throws some knickers, a couple of T-­shirts and a pair of jeans into the rucksack. What else does she need? There’s a pile of make-­up on her dressing table and she reaches for the underarm deodorant but stops herself. It’s not a fucking sleepover. Her phone! She knows her dad said to leave it but it’s all right for him, he doesn’t have any friends.

She pulls her bedclothes apart but it’s not there. It’s not on the desk either. Then she remembers: it’s charging in the kitchen. Idiot. She dashes downstairs and back into the kitchen.

Her phone is smashed to pieces on the counter.

She glares at her dad who is holding the poker she dropped earlier.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘They could trace it.’

‘They! Who’s “they”?’

‘Later, I promise. You ready?’

That’s when she really loses it.

‘Ready for what?’ she screams, spit hitting her dad’s face. ‘I don’t fucking know where we’re going. Or for how long. Or why there’s a dying man on our kitchen floor. I don’t know fucking anything.’

She rarely swears in front of her dad. His face shows so many things that she can’t register them all: shock, concern, fear are all there but other stuff too. He pulls her in for a hug.

‘I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but we have to get going. Now. OK?’

He loosens his grip and steps back, taking her hands.

‘Trust me,’ he says.

She nods, then realises he already has a small bag at his feet. Where the hell did that come from? He didn’t even go upstairs. Was he already prepared for this?

‘Thank you,’ he adds, turning her around to face the door. ‘Now wait in the hallway, will you? I just have to finish something.’

She starts to move but then hesitates. What does he mean? She glances at the poker in his hand. Thinks about the man on the floor. Shit.

‘You’re not going—’

There’s a noise behind her. She glances back at the wounded man and screams. He’s rolled onto his back and is pointing a small gun right at her, though his hand is shaking. He tries to say something but chokes on it and coughs up a mouthful of blood, all the time keeping the gun aimed towards the pair of them. One of his trouser legs is pulled up and there’s an empty holster strapped to his ankle.

Time slows down. She can see his finger moving on the trigger and then everything happens at once. Her dad flings her to one side and she slips on the bloody floor again, cracking her head on the counter as she falls. The last thing she hears is the gunshot.

4

Ruby comes to, lying on the kitchen floor. No idea how long she’s been out of it but she can smell rotten eggs. If that’s what gunpowder smells like then she can’t have been unconscious for long. She tries to sit up but her head’s sore as shit and the room starts to spin so she lies back down.

She manages to turn on her side and finds herself face to face with her dad. First glance, she thinks he’s dead. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of her body. Second glance, he blinks. She breathes again. Thank God. She drags herself up, ignoring the dizziness. It’s obvious he’s been shot. There’s blood coming out of his shoulder and he seems to be in shock, barely registering her presence.

There’s a sound behind her. How did she forget the gunman? She flips around but it’s not him. He’s flat out, on his back, his eyes closed, looking very dead, the second gun lying limply in his hand. The noise is Pluto, licking up the man’s blood. It’s disgusting and she instinctively screws up her face and tries to shoo the cat away. As usual Pluto ignores her so she turns back to help her dad.

Ruby drags herself up onto her knees, feeling sick but pushing through it. She’s seen enough cop shows on telly to know that she shouldn’t move him. She should try and stop the bleeding though. She reaches for a tea towel from the kitchen counter and wraps it around her dad’s arm, grimacing when she realises that the back of his upper arm is in a much worse state than the front. She remembers that from the TV too – the exit wounds are always bigger. He’s not moving, still in some kind of shock, she’s not even certain he knows it’s her who’s helping him, if that’s what she’s doing. Maybe she’s making things worse? She needs a professional.

Ruby doesn’t want to leave him but she has to call an ambulance. She clambers to her feet and immediately sees her phone in pieces. How could she have forgotten that already? They don’t have a landline but her dad has a shitty old mobile hidden away somewhere – unfortunately she has no idea where. Probably not charged anyway.

He’s trying to say something. As she kneels back down next to him his eyes follow her, his lips moving. Water, she thinks. They always give people water in the movies.

She gets up and grabs a cup, filling it quickly from the sink and almost falling back down in her haste to give her dad a drink. She shoves his bag on a stool and pushes it under the counter to give her more room, puts one hand behind his head, lifting it slightly and tips the cup towards his lips. Some of it gets through but most of it runs down his chin and onto his shirt. He finally manages to make a noise but she’s no idea what he’s saying.

‘I have to go and get help,’ she says.

He grips her sleeve tightly and tries to shake his head but winces with the pain. There’s no doubt what he means. And his muttering is getting stronger.

‘Please,’ she begs. ‘You need a doctor.’

‘No,’ he says, clearer this time. The effort looks like it’s exhausted him though he’s still trying to speak. She leans right into him, her ear next to his lips. She misses the first word or two but thinks he says something about ‘not safe’.

‘What’s not safe?’ He’s saying something else but it’s too faint to hear. She pulls up slightly to see if she can lip read, though why she thinks she might be able to do that God only knows. She can feel the tears starting to come but bites her lip, needing to keep her shit together until she can get help.

She leans in again, more closely, to try and hear what he’s saying. This time it’s as clear as a bell.

‘Go,’ he says.

‘No. Not until I’ve called an ambulance.’

She tries to get up but his grip is like steel and he’s shaking his head more firmly. ‘Safe,’ he says again. Or at least that’s what it sounds like. And then ‘he’s coming’. Maybe. And then much louder and clearer:

‘Run!’

5

‘Hello.’

Ruby jumps out of her skin, breaking her dad’s grip on her sleeve, her eyes darting to the door. There’s no one there.

‘Come in, Green, this is base, over.’ She spins around. The voice is coming from the ponytailed man on the floor. But not from him, from his waist. She looks down and realises there’s some kind of walkie-­talkie attached to his belt. Ruby moves towards him. She could ask them for help! Thankfully, she immediately realises that’s the stupidest idea she’s ever had, and that’s saying a lot. Whoever is on the end of that radio isn’t her friend. Maybe he’s even the one who’s ‘coming’. Maybe he’s right outside.

Ruby starts to tremble but grips her fists tightly to try and stop it. Her dad needs her. Then her eyes fall on the second gun, which is hanging from the soldier’s limp hand in a pool of his blood on the floor. She has no idea whether she’ll be able to use it but, holding her breath, reaches down and plucks it from him. She’s momentarily distracted by the spooky-­as-­hell way the snake and skull tattoo on his arm appears to move when she pulls the weapon free but that’s just because she’s shaking so hard. He doesn’t react at all. She’s pretty sure he’s dead but doesn’t want to get close enough to check properly. She does her best to wipe the blood from the small gun with some kitchen roll and puts it in the front pocket of her rucksack, before going back to her dad.

He’s mumbling ‘go’ repeatedly. Her lip-­reading skills can just about cope with that. She bends down, gives him a quick peck on the cheek and whispers in his ear. ‘I’m going for help.’

His muttering gets louder as she grabs her rucksack and legs it out of the kitchen – now he’s clearly saying ‘no’ but she doesn’t care, she can’t just run to God knows where and leave him like that. She snatches a black hoodie from the hooks by the door but then hesitates. What is she doing? She’s coming back, isn’t she?

She pulls the front door open slowly, checking to see if anyone is around. Maybe the gunman didn’t come on his own. It’s quiet outside. It always is. Coldburn has so many Airbnbs now that most of the houses stand empty out of season. The snow’s not settling but it is getting a little heavier and she worries that she’s only got trainers on.

It’s not important. There’s only one thing she needs and that’s the phone box at the end of the street. It’s the only one in the village. It’s always been a bit of a joke that the parish council insisted on keeping it when everyone has their own phone but the people here really don’t like change. Right now she thinks it’s the best decision they ever made.

She checks once more to make sure there’s no one watching the house and sprints down the road. She can see the phone box is empty. It always is. At least she doesn’t have to wait or explain what’s happened to anyone hogging the phone. Not that she could.

Ruby reaches it in record time, yanks open the door and goes to grab the receiver. It’s not there. Just a coiled lead coming out from the coin box and hanging down towards the floor.

6

Something very strange is going on.

Margaret lets the curtain drop and pats the white Bedlington Terrier on her lap as she tries to remember the sequence of events.

First there’d been the man in the phone box. A stranger. Dressed a bit like a soldier but no soldier would have a haircut like that. Nigel had never shut up about standards dropping since his day but she doubts they’ve dropped that far.

She’d seen the man earlier that morning, just standing on the corner looking up the street. Hadn’t thought much about it at first but when he was still there ten minutes later she’d started to take an interest. He seemed to be talking to himself but then he took something from his belt and she’d realised it was a radio transmitter of some kind. She’d watched as he’d finished the conversation, put the radio away and walked down to the phone box. Why would he need a phone when he had a walkie-­talkie? She was so curious that she’d made a note of it on the pad she kept by the window. He was only in there a few moments and didn’t make a call. She’d found her binocu­lars by then and would have seen the receiver by his ear if he had.

Then he’d stepped out of the booth, thrown something over a wall, and walked back up the street, past the spot he’d been standing in and straight up to No. 8, where that quiet man, Alex, lived with his equally reclusive daughter whose name Margaret could never remember. Judy maybe? She’d been surprised when Alex opened the door, she knew from experience that he normally ignored callers – she’d taken in enough of his parcels in the past. After a brief conversation the visitor had stepped inside and the door had closed.

That had been about fifteen minutes ago. Margaret had assumed the excitement was over so she’d gone and made herself a nice cup of tea which is still sitting in front of her. It’s going cold but she takes a sip anyway, not wanting to miss anything now the girl – Ruby, that was it – is out and about. Margaret doubts that phone box has seen any use in at least a couple of years – and she would know – but now twice in one morning. That’s no coincidence – and the girl doesn’t seem to be making a call either. And why would she need a phone box – all the young ’uns had their own phones these days, didn’t they?

‘There’s definitely a rabbit off here, Boris,’ she tells the dog.

Margaret looks up again as the girl steps out of the box, looking puzzled and more than a little distressed, glancing every which way as if she doesn’t have a clue where to go next. The only place she doesn’t seem to look is behind her which is ironic, Margaret thinks, because that’s where the problem is.

7

Ruby feels the touch on her shoulder and spins around, flinging her elbow towards the man’s face just like she’s been taught in the karate classes that her dad insisted she took. The blow glances off the top of his head as he ducks at the last minute but it’s still enough to send him tumbling to the floor.

‘Christ’s sake, Ruby,’ he cries. ‘What’s that all about?’

She sighs. It’s Lucas. Not a man. . .